


Seven hells

by LeighJ



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Banter, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Laughter, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Teasing, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 12:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14894825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeighJ/pseuds/LeighJ
Summary: “Seven hells” is more than apt enough to describe Daenerys Targaryen’s body and Jon Snow is not far behind, if at all.





	Seven hells

**Author's Note:**

> Another Jonerys! 
> 
> I hope you like it guys, still a little nervous from the last one! 
> 
> Thank you as always wallflow3r! ❤️

“Seven hells,” Jon curses with wild, hungry eyes. “The mere sight of your body is sure to make men weep.”

The night is cold and quiet as a tomb but here with Jon Snow in his chambers, Daenerys is hot and alive with words for him, the mirth playing at her lips and she imagines her eyes. “I do not see you weeping, Jon Snow.”

Hunched over her nude, silver body in the dark, his equally nude shadow swallows her like a great beast. “I am no man, your Grace.”

“No,” Daenerys agrees, her fingers brushing back a thick knot of curls from his eyes. His haunted, intense eyes. “Not quite.”

_I see a hunter in your eyes Jon Snow, the same one I see when I look into the red pools of your Direwolf. Where did you go when you left this world?_

He tilts his angled jaw into her questing hand, the hot touch of her fingers forcing his eyes heavily shut. The thick curl of his lashes is a shadow upon his pale cheeks, his skin so much closer to a tinge of blue than she is comfortable with. It’s her excuse however, the one she clutched as she slithered through his door and into his bed. _He needs  warmth and who better than the blood of the dragon? Fire runs in my veins and fire will save him, thaw him. Fire will break the ice._ Break it she has with a sweaty sheen upon his body she is most grateful to see, a splotch of colour in his cheekbones and splashed across his chest from hours of fucking.

Daenerys is no experienced lover nor does she claim to be but being with Jon Snow, who has only ever taken one woman, leaves her feeling as if she holds the secrets of love making. He trembles whenever he’s inside her and the sight of her naked undoes him faster than anything else. She uses it to her advantage when she’s trying to press all of the seriousness out of him; wipe the frowns from his forehead. She rolls her hips and churns her belly and loses herself in his gasping breaths. His squeezing hands and his avid gaze on his cock sinking into her wet, hungry depths sets her skin to a blaze she so rarely feels, intoxicating beyond words. Often it works for her: riding him into calmness, sometimes it doesn’t but tonight is a fortunate night and he’s relaxed, languishing in the cradle of her body.

A hum rumbles in Jon’s chest now as he peels his eyes open, once more stealing her breath and rationality with his inexplicable beauty. “I am sorry about your dress. I’ll replace it.”

Daenerys snorts in amusement, flushing at the ungraceful sound as it barks out through her nostrils. “You swore this of the last three. I see no replacements or payments for those fine dresses.”

He twitches his brow at her. “I faintly recall just two nights past when I had a tas-”

“Ah! Ah!” She cuts him off with her hand over his mouth. “You’ll make a lady blush.”

Daenerys _is_ blushing, remembering that very same night. She was fraught with tension, over thinking, ruling and grieving for her lost son, a bad mood taking refuge and festering. When he begged audience wit her she was in no mood for him and dismissed his summons with a cool attitude. Soon after he arrived at her bedchamber doors regardless of her rejection and she had to assure the men sworn to her that Jon Snow was no threat to her. When left alone, the two of them quarrelled and when she was in his face, naked from her bathing… There was something liquid and dangerous in Jon Snow’s eyes.

It did something to his face, something ethereal and so quick she near missed it. He was not a living man in that moment. Not a beast. Just something else, something more and it terrified her as equally as it excited her. He took her hard and fast over the edge of the copper tub he found her in. Such contrasting behaviour to his usual quiet politeness threw her askew, but the passion and determination to be inside her excited Daenerys in ways she never thought possible. When they bothered to strip him properly after he spilled his seed, groping at each other like drowned men reaching for a tree limb, he tasted her. She had tasted Drogo before. Licked and sucked and swallowed but that was expected of her. For Jon to taste her was pointless. Until he did it. She flushes again at the memory, at the heat that burns in her belly.

Jon moves his face so her hand slips away and reveals a rare grin. “Can’t stomach such things spoken aloud, Your Grace?”

“You know, you’re a tad cockier when your cock is hard, Jon Snow.” The wide, dark pools of his eyes widen still and a smirk crawls over Daenerys’s lips. “Ah, silence. Your stronger suit, though you so love to brood. Maybe a frown to complete the picture?”

“Queen, is that what they call you?” He teases with a wicked gleam in his eye, turning her belly to a nest of snakes. “Menace comes to my mind.”

Her lips peel apart to speak and then nothing but a shriek of surprise escapes as Jon’s strong fingers dig into her bare hips and sides, tickling her relentlessly. She thrashes and shouts, her hands pressing into his bulging muscles and his strong forearms, screaming her glee and cursing in between.

Jon laughs over her, his fingers not letting up and his body lowering steadily closer, his face filling up her vision. “Seven hells,” he curses again.

Daenerys’s laughter dies in her throat as that _look_ pierces his eye. That look of hunger and danger. That look that says he would sooner make love to her slowly for hours as he would fuck her deep and sure until she passes out from the exhaustion.

“I would taste you again,” he whispers huskily, slowly. "I _want_ to."

She swallows softly, a click in her throat that resounds in the suddenly silent room. “Again?”

He cocks his head at her like she has puzzled him. “You don’t want my mouth? You prefer the cock you happen to be so fond of?”

“Cocky,” she repeats. “You know, there are many men willing to bed me, Jon Snow. I have all the means to replace you.”

The look in his eye turns darker still and Daenerys is breathless. Mere men are the only companions she has taken in to her bed and Jon Snow is not one of them. Jon Snow is a beast. Without another spoken word, he takes a hold on her thighs and spreads them so wide and fast she yelps at the twinge of pain. Then the yelp becomes a moan, quickly stretched into a scream of delight as the broad swipe of his tongue passes over her dripping entrance, tonging it. Even now she blushes like a maiden just as fiercely as she groans, the thick muscle of his tongue edging along her quivering walls.

There is seed there from earlier, she knows. _His_ seed, of which he is scooping up just as eagerly as the taste of her. To look upon this man and his brooding face, his polite words and strong posture, no one could guess as to what he is willing to do in the privacy of his or her chambers, the _things_ he wants to do with her, to her. Even now he continues to push her boundaries, dipping deeper still to the other quivering hole she has, this one depraved and far too wicked of an act to partake in.

“Jon,” she warns breathlessly, the whole effect ruined by her trembling and her sobs.

He does not stop but simply changes direction, running his tongue back up to the swollen bud nestled under her wet curls. Her legs tremble and clench around his curly head, her fingers tugging and pulling at said curls restlessly, her head thrashing. When she can bare to look down at him, he is always looking back at her. Every time their eyes connect a jolt worms through her skin and she shudders on the edge of climax. The sounds that pour between her lips are wanton and desperate, embarrassing in their intensity but none the less, she cannot force her lips closed. _Too good._ It is far too good and her heart races faster than her Dragons fly through the skies.

The peaked caps of her nipples are hard and tight, thrust into the air as Jon’s tongue plays and dances, her spine bowed with the intensity and the pleasure. With no words or warning, he stops and when a screech escapes her throat she wants to die with the mortification. _Seven hells,_ she is meant to be his _Queen_ not his whore and yet, here she is. Her body flows like liquid as he pulls her up by her hands, her eyes unfocused and her breathing erratic. Jon lays on his back in the same moment he pulls her onto his face.

“Jon! No, stop, why wou-”  
  
“Daenerys.” The voice comes from between her legs and when she looks down she can barely stomach the excitement at seeing his face where it is. “Please.”

_Gods, save her._

She nods because should she venture to open her mouth she knows she will protest. He smiles at her, his hands squeezing her hips and thighs. “You awe me. Your cunt awes me.”

She flushes so violently she may combust into flames. She has no words and he knows he has rendered her speechless so he gives her mercy and stretches his neck. A part of her wants to squeeze her eyes closed or look away but he is right there and she wants to see. She has faced far more frightening things than Jon Snow between her legs. So she watches. His tongue pokes out and nudges at the nub that makes her veins burn first before he flattens the muscle and glides. Daenerys chokes and his eyes fly to her, hot and hungry. The choke becomes a sob and when he keeps her eye contact she is lost in him. Embarrassment and shame swirl away and there is nothing but him and her and this.

He licks and sucks and occasionally bites with gusto, every movement and action a different kind of hell until she has experienced all seven. The next swipe of his tongue promises to undo her and with her flustered self now abandoned, she rides his face and keens between her teeth, all while looking at him. The faster she rides the darker his eyes get, impossibly so at that, until they are nothing more than burning black stars, terrible and beautiful. His hands squeeze her thighs and his nails dig, his face cramming deeper into her most intimate part as he feasts on her like a starving man.

She shouts his name, two, four or a hundred times she is not certain, lost and enslaved to his mouth. When the climax crashes over her, body burning and slicked with sweat, a rush of fluids squeeze out of her like when she makes water and a final flustered blush stains her cheeks. Jon is not embarrassed by this. If anything the act seems to craze him and he brings her screaming to another climax so hard and fast her bones give out on her. Even weightless she stays up on his face by the sheer power of his arms, obscene noises of slurping and contentment rising from where his mouth is buried.

“Please Jon,” she whimpers after an age. “ _Please_ , I fear I may pass out.”

When he pulls away and she looks down, his mouth is wet and slick, his chin and cheeks too. His eyes are like dancing devils. Another desperate clutch of her slick walls and she becomes convinced she could take him again, his cock this time, not his mouth but he does not allow it.

He pulls her down with his strength and wrestles her into his side, skin slick with sweat and chest heaving. “Seven hells,” he curses again and despite it all, despite the exhaustion and her fuzzy eyes and her racing heart, Daenerys can only laugh.

“Seven hells,” she agrees warmly.


End file.
